


You know it's not my name

by Serinah



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Gen, Meet-Cute, POV Steve Rogers, Pre-Slash, SHIELD Agent Steve Rogers, Underage Tony Stark, but he flirts anyway, nothing happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 22:56:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14924436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serinah/pseuds/Serinah
Summary: A story where Steve was unfrozen early, Tony’s parents died in the 80s and Obie wasn’t worried about killing the golden goose.OR:When Roger Stevens met Steve Rogers, he was very surprised.





	You know it's not my name

**Author's Note:**

> Set in 1985-1987 somewhere, Howard has just died a year ago or less, but Tony is still 17. Steve has been unfrozen for a couple of years and works for the SHIELD. Playing fast and loose with timeline and universes.  
> Yes, Tony is young, but NOTHING HAPPENS! Although give them time, they will meet up later. :)
> 
> THANK YOU: spacefoxen, simi, K.DC, capnshellhead, tonystarkssnipples - you were wonderful and made this stoty infinitely better :)

 

 

At first, the mission had seemed easy: find the target, secure the target, and hand the target over to SHIELD. Unfortunately, no one had informed the target of how the mission was supposed to go.

 

_ Blackburn, Christopher Adam; nickname Hungry Chris, age 34. Born in Greensborough, North Carolina. Former US military, three tours in Afghanistan, honorably discharged. Current occupation - mercenary.  _

 

The snag in the plan was that their target seemed to have his own mission which required him to disappear off the face of the planet so thoroughly that even Natasha needed almost two weeks to catch up to him. So now, here Steve was, at an auto shop, in the middle of nowhere with a self-sabotaged bike, hoping that he'd interpreted Widow’s message correctly. 

 

“Just leave your bike here, my guy’s gonna fix it in no time,” Gary, the owner, said. “Got golden hands, he has.”

 

The local Midas would come in the next morning, so, as per plan, Steve checked in at the local inn. 

 

“You sure he's here?” he asked Nat a couple of hours later, after making a show of their meet-and-flirt at the inn's bar.

 

Now, they were sitting in a booth with a view of the door, trying to look all lovey-dovey.

 

“Not sure, but if he's not in this town, he's in the general area.” Natasha put her fingers on the back of his hand and caressed it irritatingly.

 

Despite the itchy sensation, Steve kept smiling. “Any idea what Blackburn’s doing here of all places?”

 

“Judging by the way he's been covering his tracks, whatever he's after can get away easily.”

 

“And your cover?” he asked, slowly pulling his hand out from under hers, as if to take his glass. 

 

Natasha smirked. “I'm a novelist. I'm writing about the accident that took place at the mines around here two centuries back.”

 

Since they pretended to hit it off so well so as to emerge from the room together in the morning, they also went to the car shop together. Depending on the mechanic, it could be the local gossip central.

 

When they arrived at the garage, the doors were open and the sound of a radio could be heard from the back.

 

“Hello?” Steve called out.

 

“Yeah?”

 

The room was big enough for the sound to carry, but where the young, cheerful voice came  from was unclear.

 

“I came for my bike,” Steve said, stepping in further. “It was towed here last night?”

 

“Yeah, didn't have a chance to take a look at it yet.”

 

“That's okay. I'm not in a hurry.”

 

Natasha came inside too, but remained at the door, silently cataloging everything she saw. 

 

“Give me a second,” came the voice from the left. “I need to…”

 

Suddenly, they heard a mighty roar from some kind of engine and under that a faint whoop of success. After a few seconds, the engine was turned off and a dark haired young ma- no, a boy. Steve frowned. The youth that appeared from behind a van, wiping his hands on a rag, was gangly, half a head shorter than Steve, and had huge chocolate brown eyes framed with gorgeous eyelashes. Well, not  _ gorgeous _ gorgeous, but… they'd do fine on a girl's face, was all Steve meant.

 

When the guy's gaze landed on Steve, his face lit up and he grinned.

 

“Ooh! A specimen!”

 

Steve blushed and he suddenly felt big and ungainly, in comparison. Good God, the kid couldn't be more than sixteen, clearly still thin from his growth spurt, but the grace in the boy’s every move put even Steve’s serum-enhanced agility to shame. Or at least it felt like that to Steve.

 

“Have you even finished high school?” he blurted. 

 

“And college,” the kid exclaimed in mock hurt. “I'm eighteen, I'll have you know. Having a gap year. Say ‘thank you’.”

 

For some reason, the kid’s self-assured demeanor irked the hell out of Steve. “Thank you? For…?”

 

“I’m the best damn mechanic in the country. And probably several others. Possibly on this planet. Or this dimension even.”

 

“I’m sorry, kid,” Natasha smiled. “No offence, but you don't look old enough for that.”

 

“Fifty bucks says I’ll find the problem in under two minutes.” The kid grinned. “And my name’s Steve, not kid. Steve Rogers.”

 

Steve stared. “What?”

 

The ki- Steve shrugged and grinned self-deprecatingly. “Yeah, I know… My parents were huge Cap fans. Crazy, right?” The boy shrugged with a grin. “So, what do I call you?”

 

Steve cleared his throat. “Stevens. Roger Stevens.”

 

For a moment, the other Steve’s eyes widened comically. “For real? What were  _ your _ parents, fans  _ and _ sadists?” He started cackling and gave a mock salute. “Roger, Mr Stevens.” He turned to Natasha. “And you, beautiful?”

 

Natasha smirked. “June.”

 

“Alright, June... Beautiful?” He waggled his eyebrows at Natasha. “Alright, June Beautiful, let’s check your boyfriend’s ride out.” He leered at Steve and went to crouch next to the bike.

 

“So, tell me, Steve,” Nat said conversationally. “You from around here?”

 

Steve and Nat both knew the kid had been here for only a couple of months, but that was part of her ‘let them come to me’ shtick.

 

“Nah. Got some family here though. The garage owner is my uncle, he happened to need some hospital rest for a bit, so I decided to spend my gap year here. Match made in heaven, really.” There was a brief pause and then Steve heard a quiet murmur, “Talk to me, dear.”

 

The boy's fingers lightly caressed the machine's flank and Steve's eyes tracked the movement. 

 

“Do you know what's wrong?” the young Steve asked.

 

“Do  _ I _ know what's wrong?” Steve said not without humour in his voice. “What's wrong is that my bike died and doesn’t start.”

 

The kid snorted. “Well, can’t say you’re wrong.”

 

“Hey, sis,” came a voice from the door. They all turned to look at Clint standing in the doorway. “I heard you were going to a car shop. Did you finally manage to kill your three-wheeler?”

 

“It's an electric car and runs perfectly, thank you very much.” Nat sounded genuinely delighted. “That's my big brother, Asswipe. Asswipe, meet my new friends Roger and Steve.“

 

“Hi, I'm Pete.”

 

“Pete.” Steve (version 1.0, he mentally grimaced at himself) nodded. “We're checking in on my bike actually. How's it going, Steve?”

 

He suddenly noticed that the mechanic had gone suspiciously still, but now he stood up and gave them all a bright grin that seemed very genuine, except for how it wasn't reflected in his eyes.

 

“Yeah, peachy. I'll get it up and running in a couple of hours, in fact.” He looked around the shop and then past Nat, Clint and him, straight out the door as if that way lay salvation. “I just need this thing from out there.”

 

Steve felt unease dribbling from his spine to his toes. Just as the kid started faux casually moving towards the door, out of unnamed instinct, Steve stepped directly into the guy's path. 

 

The other Steve flinched.

 

“Something wrong?” Clint asked looking from one Steve to another.

 

“What's wrong?” The dark-haired Steve’s smile was wry. “How about the fact that three total strangers appear the same day in a place where you can go several weeks without meeting an unfamiliar face and suddenly they're all the best of pals. How's that for wrong?”

 

“Asswipe brought me the box I needed since he was passing by these parts anyway.” Nat shrugged, quite naturally in Steve’s opinion, but the kid huffed.

 

“The bike was sabotaged and somehow I doubt that the buff specimen here would’ve been so calmly telling me about the engine dying if he hadn’t done it himself.”

 

Clint and Natasha glared at Steve.

 

“I did exactly as you told me to!” he exclaimed defensively.

 

“Not your fault - you’d fool any other mechanic out there. Told you, I’m the best.”

 

Despite the glib self-promotion, the guy looked distinctly trapped. Steve looked back at the other Steve only to see that he’d armed himself with a heavy screwdriver and was standing defiantly, feet placed apart, every muscle tense.

 

“Look,” Steve said in his most reassuring tone, “We’re not here because of you, okay?”

 

Young Steve (who now looked a lot less like a kid and more like a determined young man) didn’t look very reassured. “Yeah? Prove it!” he challenged.

 

“How?” Steve’s eyebrows rose.

 

“Leave. Right now. Come back tomorrow morning for your bike and leave me be,” Steve 2.0 said, staring at them mulishly. 

 

Steve thought a bit. “Fine. We’re going,” Steve decided. “Just keep your thoughts about us to yourself, deal?”

 

For a fraction of a moment, the young man stared in disbelief, but then nodded. “Deal.”

 

“Bye,” Clint waved cheerily and the three of them left.

 

A little way down the street, Clint slipped away.

 

“Where’s he going?” Steve asked Natasha. “I told him we were going to leave him be.”

 

“We can’t though. If he’s that skittish about us, he’s probably the one that Blackburn wants.”

 

“Could just be a runaway,” he said uncertainly.

 

“Only one way to find out.”

 

*

 

Later that evening, they were sitting at the bar, gathering intel. Which meant Steve left Natasha to it while he sat and enjoyed his beer.

 

“You have a pretty young guy at the car shop,” Natasha said to the bartender, who as they'd discovered last night, was also the owner, Jim. 

 

“Yeah, the runaway. Stevie's alright.” He smiled at Natasha. 

 

“A runaway?” Steve couldn't help but burst out. 

 

“Yeah. You know how it is. Turned up mid February in a thin leather jacket and a backpack.”

 

“And no one reported it?” Steve was unsure if he could believe it.

 

“No point. If someone’s waiting for him, we might be sending him back into an awful situation. If not, then by the time they get him processed, he'll probably be legal anyway,” the owner said with a shrug.

 

“So how old is he really?” Steve couldn’t help but ask.

 

Jim made a face. “It’s not like we can make him tell us, but my experience has taught me that the kids in that situation don’t exaggerate too much just in case. If he says he’s nineteen, he probably is close to eighteen.”

 

“You sound like you have a lot of runaways,” Natasha interjected.

 

“Not many, but from time to time they just appear. It’s a remote place, no one will think to look for their kid here. But frankly, if anyone comes looking, it’s more likely to be an abusive husband that’s chasing their scared wife. No one ever comes for the children.”

 

Steve shook his head in disapproval. “What about the local police force? Why aren’t they doing anything?”

 

“It depends. If the police takes notice, the kids tend to disappear. Sometimes the locals help them out, sometimes they just take off. This time, Gary and I told the Sheriff that Steve’s our distant cousin. Gary’s my brother. He owns the garage?” The owner of the bar took out a rag from under the counter and swiped over the already gleaming surface. “He's brilliant with all sorts of machines, Steve is. He even saved me from replacing the industrial oven in the kitchen. It would've put me out a few thousand bucks. Helping the kid get on his feet is the least we can do.”

 

The owner moved away to pour two drinks for a patron. “Here you go, pal.”

 

When the man took his drinks and left, Natasha asked, “And even knowing he’s underage, you still serve him scotch?”

 

“What?” Steve whirled to where a patron was leaving the bar and heading towards a booth. It clearly wasn’t Steve the Mechanic, so for a moment Steve frowned in puzzlement. But then he saw where the blond young man with two drinks was going and almost stood to go and tell the young Steve off for underage drinking, when Natasha’s hand landed forbiddingly on his forearm.

 

“What?” Steve stared at her.

 

“Don't sweat it, pal,” the barman said. “That train left the station years ago.”

 

Steve frowned. “What do you mean?”

 

The barman grimaced. “The tolerance Steve has? You don't build it in a year. Trust me, the kid's better off here.”

 

*

 

Nothing happened until right before dawn, when Clint paged Natasha and the two of them rushed to his stake-out point only to find an abandoned nest, a broken arrowhead and some blood.

 

“You take the kid and get on the road. Pump him for information; I’ll try to track Clint down.”

 

“How can you be sure Blackhurst doesn’t have the kid?”

 

“I’ll kill Clint myself, if he managed to sleep through that, but my best guess is that Clint subdued Blackhurst, brought him here, but then something went south. I doubt that Blackburn had a chance to grab Steve.” She was peering across the street at the car shop’s second-floor windows. “Unless he needed the kid dead.” She shook her head as she made it to the door. “Check it out and get on the road, with or without him. I’ll page you with directions when I know them.”

 

Steve nodded and slipped across the road to the stairs of a second floor apartment where, according to Clint, the young mechanic lived.

 

Steve was pretty sure that if he knocked, the paranoid youth would just slip away, so once up, he took out the key Natasha had acquired and very quietly unlocked the door. With a quiet click, he pushed the door open and snuck in.

 

If he'd had normal human hearing, he wouldn’t have heard it, but somewhere in the apartment a very quiet beeping started and then he heard a rustle of bedclothes.

 

Steve moved fast - he dashed into the bedroom only to see young Steve with a backpack in hand with one leg out the window. The next moment, the kid was face down on the floor with Steve’s knee between his shoulder blades.

 

“It’s okay.” He tried using his most calming voice. “It’s Roger, from earlier. In the car shop? I’m not here to hurt you.”

 

“Yeah, very reassuring,” the other Steve replied, out of breath. “Let me up!”

 

“Only if you promise not to run, Steve.”

 

“Oh, come on, you know that’s not my name!”

 

Steve frowned. “It’s not?”

 

“Shit, let me-” He stopped struggling and slumped. “Of course it’s not! Who the hell would name their kid Steve Rogers?”

 

Steve blinked. “There are actually quite a few…” he trailed off. “What’s your name then?”

 

There was a pause. “You don’t know?”

 

“No. If I let you up, will you promise not to run?”

 

“Will it do me any good?”

 

“No.”

 

“Well, you might as well let me up then.”

 

Steve had to concede the point and stood up.

 

“Fucking bodybuilder,” not-Steve groused, making a show of smoothing down his T-shirt. “I feel like a house fell on me.”

 

“Don’t exaggerate. What’s your name?”

 

“Well if you don’t know, I’m certainly not going to tell you.” He hefted the backpack onto his shoulder.

 

Steve stared at the kid. “Not going to tell me what you’re running from, either?”

 

“I’m pretty sure it’s you.”

 

Steve shook his head. “No, we’re after someone else.”

 

The guy was watching Steve very carefully. “And what exactly do you want from me then?”

 

“To protect you.” There was absolutely no pause or hesitation when Steve said this, but the other guy still just huffed. “I mean it. We gotta go. Now. We don’t know where Blackhurst is. He could come back for you at any moment.”

 

Not-Steve thought about it. “Right. And I’m just- what? I’m supposed to believe you because you’re name dropping someone I’ve never heard of before?”

 

“Look, I’m sorry you don't believe me, but there's nothing I can do about it at the moment. We have to go  _ now _ .” For a second, they stared off. “If you don’t start moving, I’ll just tie you up and carry you,” he said with all seriousness and the other guy blanched.

 

“Fine. I’m moving.”

 

And true to his word, the young man moved towards the door. Steve felt himself starting to relax, but then, at the door, his captive stumbled back, stepped sharply on Steve’s foot, elbowed him in the gut and tried to leap over the railing. Had Steve been a regular man, he would have succeeded. As it was, Steve just grunted and grabbed the brat around the middle, effectively pinning his hands to his sides, and put him in a chokehold with the other hand. The young man struggled only briefly, quickly recognizing the futility of it, and then slumped in Steve’s hold. It felt like he was giving up: the young man didn’t even curse; he just stilled.

 

His body was warm and pliant against Steve’s and for a second, Steve just breathed in the scent that made his gut tighten in a distinctly pleasurable way.

 

Abruptly, Steve let him go and jumped back.  _ Underage, Rogers! _

 

Slowly, the -  _ boy _ \- the kid turned around and looked at Steve, disbelievingly.

 

“Just move,” Steve said dully. “You know I can’t let you get away and there’s no way you can best me.”

 

“Fuck you,” the boy bit out.

 

“Steve,” Steve heard himself say.

 

“What?”

 

“Call me Steve. Steve Rogers.”

 

“Ha-fucking-ha.”

 

Steve stared at him.

 

“You’re… you are serious?” The guy blinked. “You’re serious. Your name really is Steve Rogers? Like Captain America?”

 

Steve didn’t answer, but felt infinitely better seeing life in the young man’s eyes again, even if he was snickering at his expense.

 

“So what do I call you?” Steve asked after a moment.

 

“Luke. Luke Skywalker.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes. “Let’s go,  _ Luke _ .” Thank God Clint had shown him  _ Star Wars _ . 

 

*

 

Steve had to hotwire Clint’s truck, but not ten minutes later ‘Luke’ was cuffed to a car door and the pair were heading for the highway.

 

“Can’t risk you trying to cause an accident,” Steve explained, but Luke just stared mutinously out of the window.

 

“Look,” Luke said after a while. “I’ll double whatever he paid you, okay?”

 

Steve sighed. “I told you, no one has paid me anything. I mean, not to kill you, or kidnap you or whatever you’re thinking.”

 

“How about a million?”

 

Steve blinked. “A million?”

 

“Fine. Two. Just keep me alive until the end of May and get me to New York in one piece and you'll get whatever you ask, okay?”

 

Steve thought this over. “And just where will you get money like that?”

 

Luke rolled his eyes. “Stop playing dumb. You know who I am.” In frustration, the boy pulled on the cuff and the sight of his wiry muscles moving under his skin caught Steve’s eye. He tore his eyes away.

 

For a while they drove in silence and Steve felt awkward and stifled. He thought about asking the guy what he was running from, who did he think wanted to harm him, and where his parents were. Steve had a hard time imaging that no one was looking for him regardless of his ability to actually deliver on a promise of a couple of million dollars or not.

 

“We need to stop for gas. Will you behave?”

 

“Will you believe me if I promise to be a good boy?”

 

Steve sighed. “I can knock you out?”

 

The kid froze. “Don’t.” Swallowed. “Please.”

 

Steve stared at him. The kid was genuinely afraid of him. Had he been beaten at home? Was that why he’d run away? Or had it happened while on the run? Had anyone- he cut this line of thought off. No use imagining what all could’ve happened to a beautiful boy like that. Steve turned away.

 

“Just behave,” he said quietly.

 

In the distance Steve saw a gas station, but before they reached it, Steve slowed down and parked behind a shiny blue car, the make of which Steve didn't know, at the side of the road.

 

‘Luke’ groaned as he recognized Clint standing next to the car.

 

Steve got out.

 

“Where’s Natasha?” He looked around but didn’t see her anywhere.

 

“Driving the mark for the handoff.”

 

Steve grimaced. “Did he say anything? About…?” He nodded at his own captive.

 

“He was a bit out of it. Has yours told you anything?”

 

“Just that his name is Luke Skywalker.”

 

Clint grinned. “I like him.”

 

Steve resisted rolling his eyes. “You want your car back?”

 

“Nah, got a better ride right there.” He indicated with his thumb to the blue car. “Here.” He handed Steve the keys to his truck. “Just get it back to my place later, alright?”

 

“Will do.”

 

Just as Steve turned to go, Clint asked, “What are you gonna do with the boy?”

 

“He might be in danger or he might just be a runaway. Maybe his family is looking for him, maybe not. But in either case, he needs help.”

 

For a beat, Clint stared at Steve. “Help? Yes, definitely. What kind of help though? Because If it's his family…” He paused as if looking for the right words. “Sometimes, kids have a very good reason for disappearing. Maybe this is one of those cases?”

 

“Possible. But then it should be investigated. And I can’t help but feel that something’s off about his situation. I think there’s a connection to Blackburn.”

 

Clint nodded in acknowledgement. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

 

Steve exhaled, relieved. “Thanks.”

 

Clint nodded the second time and walked back to his new car.

 

Once in the truck again, Steve said, “We got the merc that might have been after you.”

 

“Of course, you did,” ‘Luke’ said in a disbelieving voice.

 

For a while they drove in silence, but after about 30 miles, Steve spoke up.

 

“Look… Luke.”

 

“Come on, Rogers! You know that’s not my name!”

 

Steve shrugged. “Then give me a real one.” He could practically hear the kid rolling his eyes, even though his face was turned away from Steve.

 

“Just call me Master Splinter,” he grumbled.

 

Steve snorted. “Call me Midnight Ranger then.”

 

“Who?” Not-a-Master turned to look at Steve.

 

Steve shrugged self-consciously. “It was a radio show during the thirties.”

 

“The thirties?” The guy frowned. “Are we playing ‘name that obscure fifty-years-old thing’? Then I’m totally calling for the topic of science. What year did Erskine develop the first version of super soldier serum?”

 

“That's classified,” Steve said in his best forbidding voice.

 

“1939.”

 

“And how would you know that?” Steve certainly didn't know that. “Are you making this up?”

 

“It's an obscure fact that only elite scientists know.”

 

“You an elite scientist now?” Steve quirked an eyebrow.

 

“I’m more than that. I’m a genius and a futurist.”

 

Steve couldn’t decide if it was a genuine (delusional) boast or a deadpan joke.

 

He sighed. “Well, anyway.” He pursed his lips. “I know you don’t trust me, and maybe you have your reasons, but the short and long of it is that unless you tell me your name and where you’re from, I’m taking you to New York. There, after you tell me everything you know about who’s after you and why, I’m calling in Child Protective Services, and then we’ll see what happens.”

 

It was silent for about three minutes. Then, in an uncharacteristically quiet voice, the boy asked, “Are you going to call Obie?”

 

“I don’t know who that is.”

 

The kid snorted but didn’t answer.

 

When Steve parked at the private airport, he turned to his passenger and tried to withhold a sigh.

 

“I know, I know,” the kid interjected before Steve could open his mouth. “Don’t make a fuss or you’ll get hurt. Heard it all before.”

 

He looked so resigned to his fate, that Steve’s heart broke a bit. “Look, kid. I really don't want to hurt you, but it would be so much easier if you cooperated. And in the end, you making it difficult won’t matter, because I've got a written permission for a prisoner transfer that hasn't got a name, but the description fits you quite well. So, even if you did cause ruckus, no one would help you. So don't try, okay?”

 

“Prisoner transfer?” He looked at Steve in disbelief.

 

Steve didn't say anything further. Instead, he took out the handcuff key and unlocked the boy from the door, only to transfer the empty cuff onto the captive’s other wrist.

 

At first the kid didn’t react, but then he put both of his hands on Steve’s thigh and Steve jolted, only to see the kid’s gorgeous eyes raised to his, twinkling with unnamed intensity.

 

“Fine, you’ve got me.” He smiled and stroked Steve’s thigh, moving closer to his groin. Steve knew he was supposed to push the hands away but felt frozen. ”You know what gets me hot even more than Mr Tall, Blond and Muscular?” His eyelashes fluttered and Steve had to bite back a whimper. “Being…  _ cuffed _ .”

 

He said the last word in a way that made it sound obscene. His hands travelled up to cup Steve’s groin and that was what finally broke him out of the stupor and Steve jerked backwards, fumbled the car door open and almost fell out.

 

“Jesus, kid! No! What’s wrong with you? You can’t just…!”

 

“You do want to, though,” came the reply. “And you know, there’s only five weeks that separate me from being legal. And you’re not that much older. What are you? Twenty-two?”

 

“Twenty-four,” Steve replied shakily, standing up.

 

“Six years, that’s not such a wide gap, is it? Besides, if anyone here would be a sugar daddy, it would be me.”

 

Steve snorted. “Because you're a millionaire, Mr Mechanic?”

 

The ki- ma-, no,  _ guy _ made a face. “Well, not at the moment, I’m not.”

 

“Get out of the car, Mr Rich Guy.” 

 

Five weeks. Well, while five weeks certainly meant  _ something _ , he wouldn’t beat himself up because of that either. But even putting aside the guys age, he was now officially a person of interest in a SHIELD investigation and Steve was a SHIELD agent.

 

Steve shook his head to and got their bags out of the car. He eyed the guys cuffed hands and pulled out his sweatshirt to cover the cuffs.

 

“What, you embarrassed of our public games, darling?” the young man stage-whispered. 

 

“Shut up,” Steve bit out quietly, even as he blushed.

 

Since he had no quinjet, nor a pre-arranged plane, he guided the laughing brunet to walk in front of him into the airport commercial flight area and went straight to the ticket clerk.

 

“Good afternoon. I’m Agent Rogers with SHIELD.” He showed him his ID and then slid the prisoner transfer papers over the counter. “Prisoner transfer to DC. Two tickets.”

 

The official’s wide eyes snapped from the ID, to Steve’s face to the papers and then to the younger man Steve was holding by his right upper arm. It was clear that it was the most interesting thing that had happened to the woman in a very long time, but all her excitement turned into an abashed flush when she looked back at the ‘prisoner’.

 

Inwardly, Steve scoffed at the rakish grin on the young man’s face. How could anyone be so self-confident in his charm at this age? Suddenly, despite serum having made him quick and light on his feet while fighting, Steve felt big and ungainly.

 

Purchasing the tickets and the paperwork didn’t take much time and soon Steve ushered them into the food court. All through ordering and getting their food to the table, ‘insert-hero-name-here’ was strangely subdued and to his consternation, Steve started feeling bad for him.

 

“Look, son. I know it looks bad-”

 

“Tony.”

 

“What?”

 

“Tony. My name is Tony.”

 

Steve quirked his eyebrows. “Tony Montana?”

 

‘Tony’s’ lips twitched. “Good guess, but no.” He was watching Steve very carefully as if observing his reactions. “Tony Stark.”

 

Something twisted in Steve’s gut. This could be a ploy. What if he’d recognized Steve? Sure, his face was still classified, but the cowl covered only half a face and he must be a fan if he’d chosen Steve’s name for his first alias. He’d also mentioned Dr. Erskine. ‘Tony’ might be just a boy who vaguely resembled Howard and he was using Steve’s naivete to sell his fantastic story. He tried to remember how old Howard’s son might be. “I don’t remember anything about Stark’s heir disappearing.”

 

“That’s because Obie is keeping it on a down-low. I was suppose to be in the car with my parents when they died, but I got into a fight with dad and refused to go. Now Obie’s hired someone to get me killed in some other accident. My disappearance would just keep the funds tied up for years, he’s probably trying to avoid that.”

 

Despite the outlandish story, Steve wanted to believe him.

 

“Who’s Obie?”

 

Something in Steve’s demeanour, or maybe his words, must have reassured Tony, because some of the tension left his frame. “Obadiah Stane, the CEO of Stark Industries and the current overseer of my trust fund.”

 

“And why are you telling me about it now? Because I’m SHIELD?”

 

“Because if you’re dirty or your papers were fake, you already know who I am and I have nothing to lose. If you didn’t know, then you might be more inclined to accept my counter-offer. Keep me alive until I reach majority and you get five million. You won’t get a better offer, believe me. Obie might be rich, but he’s a lot less trustworthy and would be much more likely to hire someone for less to take you out.”

 

Steve shook his head. “You sure have little faith in this Stane. Do you have any proof that he’s behind your parents death?”

 

Frankly, it was a lot more likely that if he really were Tony Stark, he was just trying to rationalise his loss and, in his grief, was seeing demons where there were none.

 

“No. But I overheard a phone call. That’s why I ran.”

 

“Just a phone call? Any chance you misunderstood?”

 

Tony (probably Tony) shook his head. “How would you interpret, ‘I want the boy taken care of. An overdose would be a fit end to the Stark line, I think’?”

 

He'd made his voice deeper as if imitating someone and Steve had to suppress the urge to shiver. Was he making this up? 

 

“The words are seared into my brain,” Tony said, grimacing, but shrugged it off and eyed his food. “Any chance you’ll uncuff me for the meal?”

 

Steve suddenly remembered the feel of those hands on his thigh, looked away and tried not to blush. “The cuffs will stay on. Eat.”

 

Tony rolled his eyes, but compared to how he'd been acting before, he came off as somehow muted, and Steve felt a pang of regret.

 

“My name  _ is _ Steve Rogers,” he said. “And I really am a SHIELD agent. They are my only source of income and I have not been hired to kill or harm you in any way. If what you’re telling me is true, I will help you.”

 

For a moment, the chocolate eyes stared at him, a little bit dazed. “Wow. You even sound like him. And your name really is Steve Rogers?” Before Steve could reply, he went on. “Do you roleplay? I’ve been fantasising about sucking Captain America off since I was thirteen. The handcuffs didn’t play into it, but I can work that in.”

 

Unbidden, a sudden heat suffused Steve’s belly and his cock twitched. “Will you stop it?” he “You can’t just… you’re underage!”

 

Steve shifted in his seat, but felt too exposed to adjust his pants. He was hot all over and he bet his blush was apparent to anyone in a half-mile radius. He glanced back to look at Tony who’s gaze was now knowing with a touch of smug. Abruptly, the smirk that was playing around Tony’s mouth turned Steve’s embarrassment into burning humiliation. He wanted to lash out, but before he could, Tony spoke.

 

“In five weeks then?”

 

The cocky words should have incensed Steve further, but instead of sounding mocking, Tony’s voice sounded hopeful and excited and Steve’s anger evaporated.

 

“No.” He cleared his throat and pointed at Tony’s plate. “Eat.”

 

*

 

Just before boarding, Steve called to the page centre and sent Nat a message.

 

_ Obadiah Stane’s possible ties to the Starks’ deaths. Disappearance of the heir? Urgent. Discreet. _

 

When Tony heard Steve's message, he tried to remain stoic, but it was clear that it had rattled him. Just before boarding, he mumbled a quiet ‘thanks’ and didn't even complain about the cuffs, but Steve removed them anyway.

 

*

 

After they landed at Reagan Airport, everything happened very quickly. They were only at the safe house for about thirty-six hours when Coulson called to tell Steve that Tony could go home.

 

“Agent Romanoff found a witness who can testify that Stane was involved in dealing weapons under the table,” Steve relayed this to Tony and told himself that he didn't regret the quick resolution.

 

Understandably, Tony was upset about the double-dealing, but not surprised at the news. His main emotion, however, seemed to be the joy about finally going home.

 

“Steve, you should see my workshop! It's awesome. Well, it will be once I rebuild and get all of the modifications I want, but hell! I can go to my workshop again! You should come with me, I’ll show you my bot.”

 

Steve smiled at his excitement assured him that he would try to visit later. He knew he wouldn’t. Even if the young man would soon be of legal age, it would still be too weird to lust after him. Despite being awake for only twenty-four years of his considerably longer life, he still felt ancient next to Tony’s youth and exuberance. 

 

*

 

“I've talked to my lawyers,” Tony said a few days later at the SHIELD headquarters. “And the CPS agrees that there's no point in early emancipation, I'll be eighteen before the hearing.” He grinned winningly. “They just assigned me a temporary custodian. A Mrs Arbogast? Psht! Gonna wrap her around my finger in no time.”

 

Steve laughed, declined the invitation for coffee and let Tony leave him his phone number. From the window Steve watched the car that took Tony away and crumpled the piece of paper. He knew he’d never call.

 

*

 

Several days later Natasha told Steve that they’d found Stane’s secret phone book and that there were a couple of hitmen in it, including Blackburn.

 

“Blackburn admitted to having been paid to find Stark, bring him back to New York and stage an accident. He had some laced drugs on him,” she explained further.

 

Steve wanted to go to the detention facility and smash Stane’s face in.

 

After the court date was set, Steve finally threw out the carefully straightened and folded piece of paper. It was the only thing of Tony’s he'd had, but he refused to moon over the guy as it were the first time he'd ever been sweet on somebody. The number, on the other hand, was seared into his memory. But he still couldn’t call. He was an old man - what would such a brilliant young man like Tony Stark ever want with him?

 

*

 

A month later he’d been to three different missions and four different countries.

 

For Tony’s birthday, he sat on a Coney Island pier and thought of the Steeplechase Park that was now gone and mostly forgotten. He thought about all the things that were gone to remind himself why he would never call Tony. Why Tony deserved better.

 

During the next month he took every mission anyone threw his way and even Clint started looking at him as if he were contemplating some serious man to man talk. Thankfully, he just turned up at Steve’s apartment with a bottle clear liquid without a label.

 

“A lady in my apartment building brews it. It smells weird, but is very potent. I’ll take a sip and you can have the rest.” He pushed the bottle into Steve’s hands. “And then you’ll tell me what’s the matter.”

 

*

 

Almost two months after that Steve is handed an envelope by a SHIELD cadet.

 

_ Steve, _

 

_ I know who you are. It took me some time, but finally I’ve put it together. It was about the seventh time I tried to get you on the phone at SHIELD (or get your phone number, I don’t even remember any more) that the person I was speaking to called you a captain. _

 

_ Captain Rogers. _

 

_ It felt unreal and ridiculous, but I still dug out dad’s old news reels. It wasn’t difficult to connect the dots then. I’m not one hundred percent sure how, but you are the original Captain America, aren’t you? Even from under the cowl, your face looks the same. And your eyes. The way you stand and move and talk. I don’t know how it is possible, but I know you’re the real deal. _

 

_ Throughout my childhood, I've dreamed of adventures that ended with Captain America rescuing me, and guess what? Now I can honestly say that I have the experience. It ended up with fewer kisses than I usually dreamed up, but that’s okay.  _

 

_ Knowing who you are made the rejection easier to bear. I understand now and won't try to contact you again, don't worry. You probably lost my number the first day. Probably on purpose, but I get it. _

 

_ I can't even be sure you'll ever get this letter (or at least that’s what I’m going to tell myself when I never hear back from you), but I wanted to write you anyway. To tell you thank you. To tell you, it's okay if you won't call. _

 

_ I know there's almost no chance, but it wouldn't be me if I didn't at least try. So here I am, putting myself forward - if you're ever bored enough, come hit me up in a few years, when you feel I'm less of a kid and more of a man, I'll always say yes to you. To as little or as much as you want to offer. _

 

_ I’m not going to pretend to know you, the Steve Rogers that is not Captain America, but I would very much like to. So, come as a friend. No promises of not trying to flirt, but I can promise not to presume. If you come, whenever you come, I’ll assume you want to be my friend. No other expectations. Please. _

 

_ I’ll always want to be your friend. _

 

_ Yours, _

_ Tony Stark _

  
  
  
  


**THE END**

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.  
> If you like reblogging, this is my tumblr post for this fic. :)  
> 
> 
>  
> 
> <http://serinah80.tumblr.com/post/174863389458/you-know-its-not-my-name-coming-up-soon>  
> 


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